if looks could kill...

Perdita had said it the way she had both because she was bursting with the news (didn’t want to keep it a secret–it felt so different this time. Sure, they hadn’t planned it, but they were here. Together. Not thousands of miles away. And they could do this. Perdita was sure of it now. She was excited.) and because she wanted to see that shock on his face.

It made her laugh. She did love confounding Paul the way she did. When he’d first started asking her out, she mostly liked to say no to see that look on his face–the one of disbelief, that would quickly morph into a double-down of confidence. “You will say yes one day, Perdita Faye,” he’d tell her.

She knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

And now, his expression shifted from disbelief to excitement–utter joy. 

Perdita wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d chucked the ring box over his shoulder in his eagerness to get to her, gather her up in an embrace and lift her up off her feet. It made her laugh and she threw her arms about his neck.

“It better be just one,” Perdita said, “I swear to god.” But she was laughing as she clung to him. When he stopped spinning, Perdita leaned back but only enough so that she could kiss him. 

“I love you,” she told him. Kissed him again. Then, she broke the kiss with a pop and wiggled down out of his arms. “Now, give me my ring.” She made grabby hands for the box, pulling the ring out and sliding it onto her finger–feeling giddy, grin wide. The diamond sparkled on her finger and she giggled again.

“How’s it look?” she asked, holding her hand up by her face and tilting her chin a bit as if to pose. “Oh–” she broke the pose “–either we’re getting married very soon or we’re waiting at least two years because I am not getting married with a gigantic stomach. Not. Happening.” 

How different his life had just become, in the spam of just one minute!

But how different Paul Patts was anyway, and he realized that this new life– Perdita expecting, Perdita with a ring on her finger, Perdita already sniffing out a date– that was a life that suited this Paul Patts just fine. It was a life he had won all on his own, through patience and persistence and a good bit of pluck. Everything that had come before this moment had to come; he saw that now. 

He wanted to kiss Perdita again with the force of all those years, all the mistakes they’d made, all the victories that laid at their feet.

And so he did, drawing her close again without answering her question. His lips found hers and he encircled her, kept her close. 

He would have kissed her for a whole minute more if from the other room he hadn’t heard a tiny shriek– Penny, calllin’ “Mamma!” 

Paul pulled back from the kiss then, chuckling, letting his head fall back and shake, side to side. But ah, that was part of this grand, messy life he’d won for himself anyway. And he wanted it to be just as grand, and just as messy, for the rest of his life. 

“We can have the wedding whenever you want to. Can get married when we step off the train in Edinburgh,” he teased– though it really was just a tease, Paul wanted a big wedding, he did, and he’d wait two years. Probably best anyway. He’d have classes in the Spring. Needed to get a job till then. Start putting money away in a little jar of his dreams.

“But for now…”

“Mamma!” Penny shrieked again. It was her Patch-bit-me shriek.

In case you were wondering, he was prepared for no. 

And he’d follow through on his veiled threat. He’d propose on the train– and again while off it. Maybe he’d wait awhile then, a week or two, maybe more, and surprise her with that grand romantic proposal he’d been daydreaming about for weeks and weeks now (in between and even during prep for the trial because– well, he was ready to start his new life wasn’t he?) And if she still said no, he’d propose at Christmas. Just because she’d probably hate that– she was Jewish, after all. 

He’d propose for four years if that’s what it took because he knew as he’d always known– since the second Perdita walked in the door in the Spotted Hound– that she was the one for him. 

So go ahead Perdita, make that face all you want. Turn him down. Paul would pop up with a smile and kiss her cheek, then pack up like a good boy. 

He was prepared.

But he wasn’t prepared for what she said instead. 

Yes, she said. That wasn’t the surprising part. 

Can’t raise three babies on my own, she said. And Paul’s eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened. 

He forgot all about his bloody proposal. 

“Wait– what? Perdita!” He yelped, and lifted from his knees at once, whisking her into his arms. He grasped her like she could keep him from rocketing up through the roof. “Do you mean– ? Really? Really?” 

He looked her up and down. And suddenly it was obvious, he didn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, eh? 

“We’re having a baby!” He picked her up and swung her around. “We’re having another baby!” 

Perdita had said it the way she had both because she was bursting with the news (didn’t want to keep it a secret--it felt so different this time. Sure, they hadn’t planned it, but they were here. Together. Not thousands of miles away. And they could do this. Perdita was sure of it now. She was excited.) and because she wanted to see that shock on his face.

It made her laugh. She did love confounding Paul the way she did. When he’d first started asking her out, she mostly liked to say no to see that look on his face--the one of disbelief, that would quickly morph into a double-down of confidence. “You will say yes one day, Perdita Faye,” he’d tell her.

She knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

And now, his expression shifted from disbelief to excitement--utter joy. 

Perdita wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d chucked the ring box over his shoulder in his eagerness to get to her, gather her up in an embrace and lift her up off her feet. It made her laugh and she threw her arms about his neck.

“It better be just one,” Perdita said, “I swear to god.” But she was laughing as she clung to him. When he stopped spinning, Perdita leaned back but only enough so that she could kiss him. 

“I love you,” she told him. Kissed him again. Then, she broke the kiss with a pop and wiggled down out of his arms. “Now, give me my ring.” She made grabby hands for the box, pulling the ring out and sliding it onto her finger--feeling giddy, grin wide. The diamond sparkled on her finger and she giggled again.

Perdita looked down.

Paul wished he had magic now. He wished he could freeze time, or reverse it. He wished he could wave his hand over an object and make it invisible. But Paul could not do any of those things. Maybe in his stories, but not here in real life, where Perdy, sharp as ever, looked down as Paul did, and saw the little box.

He didn’t even bother to think that she’d wonder what it was. She knew, and when she looked up at him again, it was plain on her face just as the box was plain to see on the floor.

She tried to mask her thoughts, but she should remember that this was Paul she was lookin’ at. Paul, who spent years learning how to decipher all the many masks of Perdita Faye.

So he didn’t pay attention to the line of her lips, but to the spark in her eye. 

It was the same spark as the first night they met. Still as alive and bright as ever. Not once had it ever faded, not for Paul.

She nudged the box toward him, but he wanted to move across the room and kiss her. Let’s skip the boring parts, he’d say against his lips. Just say yes. 

Paul didn’t do this– if only because it’d quickly end with more clothes on the floor than clothes in the suitcase, and their kids were in the other room, in the playpen for now, but Patch was diabolical and Penn too quiet. And also Paul was a romantic, too romantic for his own good, and sure there weren’t candles or Perdita’s favourite flowers, and he was in trakkies and he hadn’t shaved yet but he still wanted to ask, and maybe this was the perfect way and the perfect moment (or so he’d say it was, when later he wrote all this down.)  

Because Paul couldn’t ignore the box anymore than Perdita, despite the offer. It’d burn a hole in his pocket all the way to Edinburgh.

“Fuck it,” he said. And so he did move forward, but only so he could swipe the box from the ground and take a knee in front of Perdita.

He opened the box, and the diamond ring winked up at Perdita– another kind of spark. 

“You gonna marry me, Perdita Faye, or am I gonna have to badger you until you say yes?” He grinned, like he’d grinned all those other nights when he’d asked her and asked her to go out with him, and she’d said no. 

Perdita would’ve done it, you know.

She would’ve went back into the living room and finished the last few things that needed to be done there. She would get on the train and set up their new house. She wouldn’t ask about it. She wouldn’t badger, or worry, or expect anything at all. She’d let Paul take his time. She owed him that. And Perdita was not a worrier, not really. Perdita loved Paul, and that was all she needed to know. They’d get married when he decided the time was right.

Apparently, though, that time was right now.

She watched quietly as he slid across the floor, onto one knee. Her arms were still crossed and she was looking down her nose at him, her expression a bit pinched, but that was only to keep ahold of the love that was fluttering inside of her, turning her insides to feathers.

That was her secret, wasn’t it? Perdita’s insides had always been feathers. It was her exterior that was as hard as the diamond in that little box.

It was a modest diamond, silver banding. The exact cut, the exact setting that she had wanted, though on a less grand scale. But, after two years of being a mother--Perdita knew some big fat ring wasn’t going to make her happy. It’d just get gunk and jelly in it. 

This was--perfect.

Though, she drew out the silence anyway, tilting her head and squinting up at the ceiling a bit. “Hmm,” she hummed, as if she was thinking about it.

In case you were wondering– no, Paul wasn’t entirely over getting left by Perdita and having his babies taken.

But he also wasn’t thinking about that, because as soon as Perdita swiped the shirt and another pair of trousers from the ground, he saw the velvet box fall out and land practically at her feet.

Yeah. The engagement ring. Right there. Some shite luck if you asked him. 

Perdita luckily wasn’t paying attention. She tossed the shirt at his face; Paul caught it and scowled at her, while trying not to let his eyes wander down to the little box. Part of him was getting pissed at her though. Tossing threats his way, getting mad over what? They still had time. Paul was much quicker at packing than Perdita anyway, partially because he had so much less than her, and he didn’t need everything folded perfectly. He’d toss it all together in just a couple minutes if she’d give him a spare moment to breathe.

This was what he got for tryin’ to be bloody romantic. 

But also he really needed to swipe that box up before she saw it. 

“Oh save it, no you won’t. Just give me some space, okay?” he said. Leave, in other words. 

And then Paul’s eyes drifted down to the box. It was just a second, and then he snapped his eyes up. 

They didn’t have that much time. And ever since she’d gotten out of the bathroom and came to find Paul--it had felt like time had shrunk itself down, gotten even smaller. They only had so long now. They had to get out of this awful place. The internal clock wasn’t going to slow down. If they weren’t ready by the time the movers got here, they’d have to reschedule, and Perdita did not want to be here for one more moment.

She had very good reasons for this. 

“Give you sp--” Perdita started, still baffled at whatever the fuck was going on with Paul, because something was going on with Paul. He didn’t care about packing. He’d throw everything into a box without looking if it were up to him. 

Her hands were on her hips as she scrutinized Paul, who was looking a bit startled, worried--

She saw his eyes dart down and her own followed, snapping down to her feet.

And everything stopped. 

Perdita pursed her lips a little bit--mostly to hide the smile that had decided to try and creep onto her face.

She looked up at Paul after a moment, having schooled her expression carefully blank. Though, inside, she was still amused--all her annoyance flocking away all at once. 

“Do you want me to pretend I didn’t see that?” she asked him, taking pity. She knew he probably had some sort of grand romantic gesture planned. Perdita did not care about grand romantic gestures. She cared about Paul, who cared about grand romantic gestures.

True, Paul could look for it when they got to Edinburgh.

Unless he didn’t pack it in any of these trousers. Unless it was somewhere else in this room. Behind the bed? In a drawer? Where’d he set it down last? For the life of him, Paul couldn’t remember. And wasn’t that just so typical, too, old Paul with his head in the clouds, gettin’ lost in some day dream or another and forgetting what was in his hands…

Normally he’d ask Perdy for help. Oi, where’d I put my keys last? Love, you see my glasses? Darling, where the bloody hell is my wallet? 

Perdita would snip and complain but she’d always be the one to find it. Made sense, didn’t it? Everything about Perdy was sharp– even her eyes. That’s what he loved about her.

Couldn’t ask her for help with this. Paul had been very careful the last few days to make sure that it remained out of sight. He wasn’t sure, see, when he was going to ask, just knew that he was going to. Part of him fancied doing so on the train platform. But that was Paul’s style– stuff of literature and movies. Perdy would kill him. 

Definitely didn’t want Perdy to find an engagement ring among the leftovers of their ransacked flat either.

“I’m uh– I just– need to make sure I packed– my lucky pen,” said Paul.

A terrible excuse. But he was gonna go with it. 

He twisted ‘round and saw her make a grab for a pair of trousers. “Oi–” he said, lunging. He grabbed it and tugged the pair away from her. “I’ll– I’ll do that. You uh, don’t worry about…all this. I’ve it handled. Really. Go relax with the kids. I’ll be done in no time.” 

His hands fondled his own trousers, trying to be inconspicuous as he moved up to the pockets…

Damn. Nothing in there. Where the bloody hell…? 

“Lucky--hey!” she snapped at him as Paul yanked the trousers she had swept up off the floor out of her hands.

They went to her hips and she scowled at him, her eyes narrow. 

She didn’t believe him. Not for a second. 

Paul had never said no to Perdita helping him clean up. Well, in terms of the house or something, when it came to “cleaning up” in the fashion sense, he had been a pill about that, not letting her buy him nice suits or good gel for his hair, or the nicest colognes. She had come to love these idiosyncrasies, just like how she had come to love Paul’s mess.

Because, yeah, he was messy.

They both were, honestly. Neither of them liked doing the dishes, or cleaning the apartment, or doing much of anything in terms of living properly. When the twins had been born, Perdita didn’t think anything at all had been cleaned for weeks. And, when it did finally come time, it was normally Perdita who broke first. Who badgered Paul into cleaning. Some of their most vicious fights was over whose turn it was to clean.

True facts.

So, the fact that he was denying her help? 

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

“You don’t need your goddamn lucky pen. I will guarantee the babies will keep you occupied on the train. Paul, I’m not doing this,” she informed him with a snarl as she bent down to pick up a few more items he’d strewn about. “I am so not in the mood.” 

When was she ever?

“If you don’t have this shit cleaned up in the next five minutes, I’m fucking leaving you behind.” She chucked a shirt at his face. 

Too soon? 

As always Duchess felt a soft pang as she watched Penny and Patch toddle around her drawings, stepping on some and avoiding others. Even when the squabbled she did not find herself annoyed or put out. In fact she found it endearing and even rose as Perdita did, this time scooping up Penny as Perdy grabbed Patch. 

“Both are lovely. It would seem your children are also blessed with a keen eye,” she smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Penny’s temple. 

With no amount of ease, she bent down to pick up the drawing that Penny had pointed at. It was gorgeous. The flowers pinned to it spoke of it’s elegance and Duchess knew that this was it. This was her line. After all, Patch had picked on eerily similar, simply a different flower. 

She couldn’t help but grin as she watched Perdita with her son. Again that soft pang rippled through her and she recognized it for what it was. Longing. For a child of her own that she could coddle like Perdita did with her own children. But she was grateful for this chance, however. To be able to spoil these two children rotten.

“It would seem our most difficult choice is made,” she smiled, idly playing with Penny’s hair. “And I think such good work deserves a treat. If mummy is okay with it, of course.”

If you would’ve told her three years ago that she would be standing in the Duchess LaBlanc’s living room, letting her children stomp all over her designs and letting them choose the theme of Duchess’ new line--

She would’ve laughed in your face.

And, if you think that she put any of this on Swynlake, she didn’t. It was happenstance. A good happenstance. Perdita would certainly treasure this time. She had learned a lot--both as an employee and as a woman and a mother, but this was never what she had wanted. It wasn’t where she saw herself.

But, for right now, she just felt--affectionate and content. 

“Tweat!” Patrick barked in her ear.

“Ah,” Perdita said. “Next time, you must spell it out--they’re getting too smart,” she told Duchess, chuckling a little but shifting Pat on her hip a bit. “I think a treat will be fine, but you’ll be dealing with them when they have their impossible sugar rush.” 

This was probably one of the craziest things Duchess had ever done in her career. Normally her lines were picked carefully, cultivated over months and months of tedious work. But normally she had a very clear idea of what she wanted to do with a new line. Even before the weird dream she’d had somewhat of an idea of what she wanted. The flowers had been her inspiration, drawing from it as the town had begun to go to hell. But that strange dream and seeing what she’d been capable of there…. 

She wanted to show that to the world. She wanted to prove that she could make it work in the real world.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Patch scrambled his way up her pant leg and into her lap. It was strange how different the blonde was with children. In her eyes they were innocent, unencumbered by the problems of the world. Each one had a light that she adored. It had been the same with Toulouse and Berlioz, though she did not get nearly as much time as she wanted with them.

And besides, how could she be upset with Patch when he was so utterly adorable?

“Oui, mon gentil garçon,” she chuckled as she took his small hands in hers. Easily she lifted him and sat him on her lap so that he could look at the pictures on the floor. “Can you help me pick which one you and Penny like best? Which one is your favorite?”

Perdita watched Duchess with her children and not for the first time thought: you’re so good with them, won’t you have children of your own one day? She wasn’t stupid though. She knew after Thomas, especially, that that was not a subject to cross. 

Besides, Duchess was her boss. Even if they were friends too.

Instead, she just smiled and satisfied herself with the fact that hopefully her children were helping heal Duchess, if only just a little. While she may hate this town, it had allowed her to meet Duchess, to reconnect with Georgette--and those things should be treasured.

“Yes!” Patrick said and wiggled down off Duchess’ lap, going over to his sister.

“C’mon, Peh-wenny.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her towards a few of the pictures. “Look! Look!” he exclaimed, which made her giggle. He beamed at her. “Which one, Peh-wenny?” 

“Dat!” Penny giggled and pointed to one of the pink drawings, Perdita’s daughter through and through.

“No, Peh-wenny. Dat wrong one. Dat one!” Patrick pointed to the deep blue ones, with traces of red. Just like his father. 

“No! Dat one!” Penny yanked her hand out of Patrick’s and stomped her foot, smashing one of the drawings beneath it.

“Oookay,” Perdita swooped in, scooping Patrick up. “They’re both nice, aren’t they Auntie Duch?” 

@pretty-perdita

It was remarkable to think how far that Paul had come. It felt like ages ago when his story began in London– nothing more than a scrappy bartender, or a scrappy Eastender, or a scrappy center forward on the local boys’ football team. All three of those men were more like characters to Paul now, for so much has happened since then, that it seems more like an eternity.

But one thing that remained clear in Paul’s brain this particular September morning was that feeling he’d had when standing on the train platform, ready to set off. 

It’d been terrifying. Exhilarating. Paul, off on a brand new adventure– Paul, staring at his own first page and knowin’ something important was about to happen.

He had that feeling today, knowing that by the end of it, he’d be leaving Swynlake too. 

Yeah, you read that right. Paul Patts was leaving Swynlake. 

He and Perdy had been talkin’ about it ever since Roger got himself into Edinburgh and Anita announced she’d be leaving too. Perdy held no love for this little town, and after the latest magical fiasco (Paul preferred his dystopia to remain in books; if he wanted a vicious Capitol government, he’d move to the States) it felt inevitable. No parent in their right mind would want a kid growin’ up here, a blink away from another reality. 

So despite Paul startin’ up school, they reexamined their options. And Paul delayed his enrollment and was looking to transfer up to Edinburgh’s programme in the winter instead. 

Yeah. Edinburgh. As if Paul was gonna let Roger go off to uni without him. 

And so they were packing up. All the babies’ things were organized in their own matching sets of suitcases. The kitchen had been cleaned out, Perdita’s closet emptied. They were waitin’ on a moving company to come and take the crib and theri bed and Perdita’s dressers and– well, of course Paul was behind. 

But that wasn’t his fault.

Okay, yes it was. 

But he was lookin’ for somethin’. 

Paul dug through his own suitcases with a mild panic in his chest, shoving his hands into the back pockets of all his jeans and trousers. He heard Perdita comin’ up behind him, probably to yell at him again–

And she was anxious to be gone from this place. Considering, especially, what she knew now--had suspected--but certainly knew. 

This town was a piece of shit. She held absolutely no love for it. She didn’t find it magical that her and Paul had found themselves together again here. That would have happened anywhere. Same with Anita and Roger. The way Perdita saw it, all the shit that had happened to them would’ve happened without Swynlake. Even the bullshit with Chester.

The things that wouldn’t have happened?

Anita wouldn’t have been tricked into marrying some asshole. Paul would have never lost his memories.

Those were the things that stuck out to Perdita--and she was anxious to leave this fucking cursed town. She did not romanticize it. She did not find it whimsical. She knew it was what it was--that being: terrible, horrible, awful.

And she was going to kick Paul’s ass.

“Why are you unpacking things?! We need to be packing!” she snapped at him as she stormed into their bedroom to see him crouched over his suitcase. She huffed at him and leaned over to snatch the clothes off the floor around his feet that he had tossed aside so that she could start folding them again.

Men.

When Perdita had recreated herself, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her humiliation at the age of 16, she had decided to model herself after a WASP. And she thought she had done a rather good job. She had more confidence than she probably deserved or knew what to do with. She didn’t let people tell her what to do. She thought that everything was hers for the taking and did not let anything at all hold her back.

Of course, she could never fully become one. She was a woman. She was Jewish. She was a young mother. 

There would always be parts of her that would be belittled. By society. By men, who truly thought they owned the world–instead of someone like Perdita who very much employed the fake-it-until-you-make-it technique.

“You know nothing about my relationship,” Perdita scoffed. “You know why I was fucking you and not Paul in that other world? It’s because Paul wasn’t in our district. I’d never met him. Otherwise, I can guarantee that I never would’ve touched you. You may’ve been a good fuck, but don’t flatter yourself. I love Paul. He’s the only man I will ever love or ever be with. I know, it’s a real tragedy for the rest of the men in the world, but I don’t give a fuck about those men.”

That fire was back and it was hard not to be just a little turned on. That mouth of hers was one of the things that had drew him in. She was vicious and ruthless. A fun challenge, a challenge that he felt confident he could take on and be successful. No matter how much she loved this Paul, he was certain of his own skill set.

He chuckled at her. Probably not the best thing to do but he did it anyways because he lived life dangerously. 

“Too bad there ain’t no way t’test that theory, huh?” He smirked at her, egging her on. Part of him wanted to see how far it would go, how far she would go. Did she have that anger from that weird dream? She had the fight but he wanted to see that anger. “So say all yous want, sweets.”

Tired of whiny men. Tired of being in this awful place for the last week. Tired of fucking Swynlake.

“Look, asshole,” Perdita said, and she didn’t hesitate to get right in this fucker’s face. In her heels, they were the same height. Actually, if you looked close enough, she might even be taller than him. She scowled either way, blue eyes hard as diamonds.

“I have been stuck in this fucking hellhole Town Hall for over a week. My babies haven’t slept in their own bed in over a week. I have not slept in my own bed in a week. So, you need to fuck off, quite frankly. My boyfriend will be back in a few minutes and we would like to go home.”

DeSoto knew that he was hot shit. Didn’t matter where he went, girls fawned over him and men picked fights with him because he typically stole their women. He didn’t need this feisty beauty to tell him that. She was a challenge at this point. A tough one but that was more than alright. It’d been far too long since he’d had to actually work to get what he wanted. But that didn’t stop him from knowing that he could get what he wanted.

And a good part of him wanted to see if that little dream vixen was just as good in the real world. 

An eyebrow raised as she spoke to her daughter, wondering what exactly she was doing. And then he gave his own laugh, lips curling into a smirk as she whipped her head back around to him. Laughed in his face and did it make his blood boil. If this had been anywhere else he would have grabbed her by that thin little arm and brought her close, probably snarled in her face before shoving her away.

But they were still in Town Hall and DeSoto knew the sort of repercussions that could have for him. So he grinned, teeth showing like a feral animal’s would, and took a small step back from the woman. “S’alright, sweetheart. Mommy’ll figure it out soon enough that she’s with the wrong one. And then she’ll come crawlin’ back. Only a matter’a time.”

When Perdita had recreated herself, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her humiliation at the age of 16, she had decided to model herself after a WASP. And she thought she had done a rather good job. She had more confidence than she probably deserved or knew what to do with. She didn’t let people tell her what to do. She thought that everything was hers for the taking and did not let anything at all hold her back.

Of course, she could never fully become one. She was a woman. She was Jewish. She was a young mother. 

There would always be parts of her that would be belittled. By society. By men, who truly thought they owned the world--instead of someone like Perdita who very much employed the fake-it-until-you-make-it technique.